The ego has landed

As a rule, I'm a very easy-going, nonjudgmental cove when it comes to my friends' behaviour, and even if they become Catholics or anti-war dupes or something equally vile, there's no way I'm ever going to tell them off or drop them, because I figure that, hey, if they want to be my friend, they must be pretty damn cool beneath it all, so who am I to nit-pick?

But no one's perfect and one thing that really grates on me is that thing women do when they haven't had a boyfriend for ages and then they get one. Instead of referring to the beloved by name, as the more frequently attached among us always do, they simply refer to "He" and "Him" with a big H. This is annoying, implying, as it does, that "He" plays just as big a part in our own busy minds and lives as he does in their own.

Because I am a bit of a God-botherer, it also annoys me because I don't think anybody deserves a Him with a big H except The Man Upstairs. But I use this to my advantage in a nasty, underhand move. You'll be talking about anything from shellfish to the euro, and then when your friend goes, "You know, He hates shellfish!" you reply, "Mmm, yes, there's all that stuff about it in the Bible, isn't there?" Or if she says, "Tell you what, He thinks joining the euro would be a disaster!" then you say primly, "That's because God is an Englishman!" They look so brilliantly mystified that in the end you're just begging them to feed you your cue.

Still, it is nice to feel this way about someone, so it's not seriously bad. What really stinks is when someone thinks this way about themselves; if "I" weren't capitalised already, they'd certainly make it so. I know by now that the geek chorus will be falling about in hysterics, gasping, "Pot, kettle, black!" and, of course, in the play written about me, the excuse I so memorably used about why I couldn't turn in my copy was that the letter "I" had fallen off my keyboard. But I would point out that it's my job and that in my private life I don't especially love yakking about myself, and indeed freak out people at parties by taking "so much"of an interest in them. I can just never get over the amazing fact that there's a whole bunch of people around who aren't me, and because of this I find their take on things endlessly fascinating. (Reading this back, I see that I come across as a complete nutter, but never mind.)

I would also say in my defence that, even though I may be extremely egotistical by most people's standards, I've got Smart Ego rather than Sad Ego. Smart Ego is when you're equal parts up-yourself and self-deprecating; like, I can easily see that I'm fat, disloyal and lazy, and that's just off the top of my head. But also there aren't many days - OK, hours - when I don't catch my eye in the mirror and think - OK, say - "Damn, but you're great!"

Smart Ego is solid, unshakeable and indestructible, and goes all the way through, like the writing in a stick of rock; Sad Ego seems flashier and more blatant, but is often built on that flipside of narcissism - self-loathing and insecurity. (Usually with good reason.) Brilliant, self-mocking David Beckham is a prime example of Smart; brittle, vain Victoria the epitome of Sad. Ulrika is a Smart, with her clear-eyed vulnerability and irrepressible ability to fall on her feet still smiling after repeated attempts to humiliate her publicly; Nancy is a Sad, standing by her man so closely and clingily that she looks more like a stalker than a geisha.

A Smart will happily point out their many personality flaws before anyone else can, and sound perversely proud of them - after all, they only go to make up the thing that is The Wonder Of Me. But a Sad can stand no criticism, especially from the fractured self. Whenever you see Sads as apparently different as Naomi Campbell and Sarah Ferguson being interviewed, they always say the same thing at some point; "I'm not perfect," they'll point out, "I have faults!" And you think, good for them, they're going to admit to being cretins/liars/evil-tempered mares. And then they always say, "Yes - I'm too generous, too trusting. I'm going to have to do some work on myself to change that." Priceless!

Smarts put themselves down in public because they don't really believe anyone could not adore them; Sads give themselves compliments, because they feel so profoundly unlovable. The actress Jenny Seagrove can say, straight-faced, "I have a huge conscience"; the ghastly Jade "Struggle" Jagger said, of being appointed creative director of a jeweller's, "I guess they chose me because of the cachet of the name and because I attract a certain type of person. They wanted Jade Jagger and all the glamour that brings... exotic as well as ethnic." It is a wonder of science that none of Miss Jagger's pregnancies was an immaculate conception; surely such a level of sheer me-mania could eventually bring about spontaneous self-fertilisation?

Craig David goes one better in the Sad stakes, by literally idolising himself; in interviews, he will refer to himself not as "I" but as "Craig David", as though "I" is too familiar and disrespectful. P Diddy does the same. I know you shouldn't mock the afflicted, but at a time when intentional comedy, post-Office, seems to be in the doldrums, aren't such unintentional grotesques a gift to the gaiety of nations?